


The Brother Wands

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor, Immortality, Master of Death Harry Potter, Reincarnation, brief mentions of Fantastic Beasts film
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 11:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Harry Potter had a very long and eventful life after dying and living again at the Battle of Hogwarts. A long life that came to an end one day when the earth exploded and he was stuck in the Between with Death. Unable to move on since he refused his train the first time, Death has found him other arrangements.





	1. Prelude: 19+ Years Later

 

Harry James Potter was born on July 31, 1980 in Godric's Hollow.

He died on May 2, 1998 at the Battle of Hogwarts at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

He died again of a gunshot wound at the age of 72, and was survived by his son Albus Potter-Malfoy and his grandchildren through his son James Sirius and daughter Lily Luna.

 

Sgt. James Scorpius Malfoy of the US Army magical defense division was a decorated soldier upon his death in 2110 at the Battle of Clearwater. He died with the record for fastest casting of the Killing Curse ever recorded, and most kills in succession using the curse in a single conflict.

He was survived by his second cousin, a no-maj named Marvin Riddle.

 

Marvin Riddle was a normal, average man. He worked a normal, average job to support his wife of 12 years and their son, Marvin Jr. He did not love his wife, and she despised him, but Marvin did not want his child raised without both parents present. So despite their problems they worked together to make life for Marvin Jr. the best life that they could.

They lived in Canada in a very average neighborhood with very normal neighbors. Their house was like many others on the street. A nice garden that Marvin tended on the weekends. It was his main hobby, after all. And he was very proud of winning the award for best in show at the annual Rose Garden League's charity fundraiser.

However, Marvin had a secret.

And when police came to his very normal job to inform him of a most unusual matter that had taken place at his very normal home, that secret threatened to come out.

Upon arriving to the police station, Marvin was questioned for a long time about his relationship with his wife and son. He was asked where he was between certain times, and he told them quite plainly that they were welcome to check the surveillance videos at his place of employment to ensure he was where he was supposed to be.

The moment he was released, however, Mr. Riddle knew that his secret could not be kept.

That night Mr. Riddle and his son disappeared, along with any sign that they had ever existed. Save for the perfectly manicured yard of Number 8, Primrose Street, Montreal.

Mr. Riddle and Marvin Jr. would not be seen again, but wasn't it curious that an apothecary that had been empty for years had been bought up and reopened in the wizarding district of Brooklyn? A man and his son, just starting his first year at Ilvermorny, took pride in tending the rooftop garden that helped supply the little shop below.

Mr. Evans loved his shop and his garden, and he taught his son Lionel everything he knew about caring for the plants in the muggle way. Especially his favorites, the lilies and the roses.

 

Hit Wizard Sirius Snape broke the late James Malfoy's record with the Killing Curse while trying to escape muggle custody after the Paris Siege.

He was executed at dawn in the year 2229 on the orders of General Cornelius Manx.

He is the second known person in magical history to survive the Killing Curse, cast at point blank range and directly to the face.

He went mad mere hours afterwards and was confined to an asylum. He later choked on his vomit, dying in his sleep with a smile on his face on October 31, 2230.

Grave robbers later took his body and others shortly before human parts went on sale in the black market as potions ingredients.

 

When the muggles returned to Earth, bringing trouble with them from the stars, it was to a world sparsely populated by witches and wizards - the undesirables that the muggles and no-maj had deliberately left behind when they abandoned the dying world.

The first to arrive were greeted by a school teacher who was also the leader of the Vatican Conclave, a small community of magical people who had taken up residence in the ruins of Vatican City.

Professor Harrison Thomas Riddle was an exceptional young man who's cunning and cleverness made it easy for others to let him lead them. His knowledge of the world long past caused many to hold him in high regard, and he could tell tales and legends that had even the most skeptical among his people believing his words.

The day the muggles returned, however, was also the day many learned of the hidden depths of his anger and his rage. The welcoming hospitality of the magical people was met with violence and slaughter. And in return wrath and ruin was visited upon the returning muggles.

The Dark Lord's thunder was felt across the continent for twenty years before he was subdued and presented as a prize in the final days of the Earth. Given as a tribute of the muggles to their superior overlords from the stars.

Professor and Dark Lord Harrison Thomas Riddle proudly plead guilty to all his crimes before the court - his head held high despite his magic bound.

When asked if he had any parting words, he declared for all to hear that he was Harry James Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived. The Man-Who-Vanquished. The Last-Magical-Standing and the Master of Death. He taunted his captors, his judges and would-be executioners, and dared them to attempt the one thing only his true equal could ever hope to achieve.

Because honestly, after all these centuries, he was just so bloody tired and could use the rest.

 

The world ended with a flash and flame because the muggles were stupid but useful. Once the magic of the world was dead, the resistance ended, and the resources stripped bare... the world was destroyed.

Death collected his Master first, as he occasionally did between executions, battlefield deaths, and quiet passings at home.

And for the first time since he was 15 months old, Harry Potter could finally put his feet up and take a small vacation before trying to sort out what the fuck he was going to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It had been a very long time since Harry had seen his own face. Three centuries wearing "saggy old man face" on and off had skewed his perception of youth, age, and all the addle-brained wisdom that supposedly comes along with it. Though for all his years and all is supposed wisdom, it sure as hell didn't help there at the end, did it?

"Master."

"Death."

"It's been a very long time since you came to visit."

"Oh come on, the Eurasian Urban Relocation Conflict wasn't that long ago," he said, waving a hand in the general direction of the Dementor-like figure. "Took a whole week for you to piece me back together. We had a splendid time."

"That was over a hundred years ago, Master, as you well know... Having been the last wizard on Earth afterwards."

"It's not my fault the muggles decided they wanted to come back to Earth and got all pissy to discover we'd taken over their abandoned cities. We had to live somewhere after their bombs destroyed our communities and they all buggered off to space."

Harry kept prodding at his face, frowning when he saw the scar that had sealed his fate so long ago. "Well I'm dead now. Properly dead this time. The damn aliens blew us up. Who knew that muggle was right and we'd all be blown to bits for a hyperspace bypass? A few centuries too late and all but still, a sight better than Trelawney ever was."

"Don't remind me... I loath collecting souls from the vacuum of space. They tend to run together and it takes me eons to separate them for processing. It's tedious work."

"I told you to get some assistants. Or find yourself a Mrs. Death and make some little reapers."

"I'm the only entity of my kind, Master. Death cannot create life. Only destroy it."

"Gee, thanks. What about Dementors? Recruit some of them from somewhere. There's got to be some or something like them in the rest of the universe."

"There are. But I don't like pets."

"You can't keep them alive you mean."

"I keep you alive well enough."

"That's because you can't kill what's already dead. I just refused to move the fuck on," Harry said. "Well... until now. So where's my train then."

If the wraith could sigh, have a headache, and frown, it would do right now. So it settled for putting a skeletal hand into the darkness of it's hood to show it's exasperation in a ghoulish approximation of a facepalm. "Master, there is no train for you. As you said yourself, you "refused to move the fuck on". So here we are."

Harry groaned, dropping into a chair that came into existence behind him in similar fashion as the mirror the white void of the Between had provided him upon his arrival. Much like the Room of Requirement so very long ago. "Great."

Death was quiet for a long time, contemplating his Master's current predicament. Never before had Death had a Master, having believed the enchantments he had placed on is precious hallows would be more than enough to prevent them from being brought together again before he got his own ghostly hands upon them. "Master, you are aware that I am able to traverse across multiple worlds. This place, this Between as you call it, truly exists between the realms. Perhaps you would wish to find a new home for yourself in another place and time?"

Harry mulled it over. "Do I get to choose?"

"Yes and no. The nature of this ability of mine dictates that I may only go where I am called. When a death occurs that requires my presence for some reason or another. Not all deaths require me, only those that are a bit... stubborn or otherwise uniquely singled out."

"Like with the three brothers?"

"Yes. I'm still bitter about that... but at the time I was rather gorging myself on souls that I shouldn't have been taking so perhaps those three little bastards were meant to teach me a lesson. Whatever the case, I will be able to take you and... swap you with the one that I am there to take."

"It's completely random, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately yes. You will need to accompany me. However, you need not stay if you find the situation not to your satisfaction or desires."

Harry leaned his chair back, raising it up on the two back legs and balancing himself very carefully. "Will I remember anything about my old life?"

"When the time is right, yes. You will also remain my Master and will be able to call upon me should you need."

"How can I call you if I won't remember you right away?"

If Death could smile, this would be the moment. "I have my ways, Master," he replied.

 

Harry learned as he traveled around with Death, helping to collect spirits and souls all across the wide expanse of multiple worlds and times, that each world had it's own certain... tasks that Death would require of him should he decide to settle in that world. He learned a lot as they traveled. He got to meet many people. Muggle and magical alike. Death did his best to limit his Master's trips with him to different versions of Earth, however. Especially after they had visited a world that didn't quite agree with his rather delicate sensibilities.

"It's a bloody murder world!" Harry had exclaimed, watching the aliens chasing one another with rather sharp weapons and no clothes. Death's only response as he and Harry reaped a few special souls from rather horrifyingly mutilated bodies, was to say "It's mating season. You should be here for weddings."

"I'd really rather not."

And that was the last time Death took him somewhere other than a version of Earth.

His Master always found fault with a world. It was too depressing. Too violent. Too ancient. Too far into the future, even for him.

Until one day...

One day they found a broken body of a little boy. Barely 6 months old. The poor child was found in a wreckage of some sort of bizarre magical creature incident. The entire family was crushed to death in their home. Death collected the souls, as they had many others that cold day all across the city. Though he stopped and watched curiously as his Master had fallen to his knees beside the old fashioned crib. He stared, unblinking and silent, for a long time at the broken little body. At the blood staining the pristine white sheets.

"What was his name?" his Master finally asked.

"Henry," Death said. "His name was Henry."

"Is there any world where he survives?"

"No, Master. There is not."

He watched as his Master's young face became stone. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and gave a nod. "Here. I'd like to be here," he said.

Death gave a bow, advising his Master to wait there until he returned.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.

Death returned to his Master and, if he could have expressed sadness and sorrow, he would have. "In this world you will have three tasks. The first will find you after long hours of searching. The second you will find without seeking. The last is the most important. The last task you must complete is the hardest and will require of you a difficult choice. You will not remember your life before until it is time for you to remember."

"Will I still be your Master?"

"Yes. Even should someone else gather all three and attempt to claim me for themselves, you will always remain my Master. Does this bother you?"

"No. I'm quite relieved actually. I won't have to worry about a lemon sherbet obsessed moron trying to become the Master of Death. Could you imagine? Albus bloody Dumbledore, your master?"

For the first time in it's own recollection, Death actually shuddered as if someone were walking over it's grave. Which, given that Death was actually immortal and deathless, was quite a feat.

Harry nodded, still not looking away from the broken little body... Tiny green eyes staring back at him. Cold. Dead. Frightened. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. "I'm ready," he said softly, not knowing what to expect.

And then pain. Fear. Darkness.

 

In December 1926, an Obscurial and other assorted magical creatures destroyed a significant amount of New York City, exposing the magical world to the no-maj. Before the animals were recaptured and the dark wizard known as Grindlewald was captured by MACUSA, a squib family who's only significance was that they were the last of one branch of a very old family, was crushed to death under the rubble of their modest New York home.

The only survivor was a small child, a baby, with bright green eyes and an oddly shaped scar on his head, the only injury the very lucky little boy had on him.


	3. The First Year

 

Henry Antioch Peverell was a very quiet, studious boy with wild, inky black hair and a pleasant disposition... most of the time. Though one would never know it if they saw him on a broom. The boy was a natural, and he took to the air like fish to water.

His guardians were stern but kind and were overjoyed when approached to take him in since thus far they had been unable to have any children of their own. Not for lack of trying. Though they had Henry, they wanted to give the boy a brother or sister of sorts to keep him company.

Though raised as an only child, Henry was never really lonely and often enjoyed roaming the halls of Potter Manor, especially when he'd have the oddest of dreams. He knew other children his age, of course. Often they had the same tutors or bumped into one another at certain social events. The Prewitts were among his favorites, along with the Longbottom boys. Between the lot of them they could single handedly make a whole Quidditch team... if they could get the Longbottoms to leave the greenhouses long enough.

He was very fond of the Princes, too. His favorite being little Eileen who was 3 years younger than himself. The pair of them would often sneak out to the gardens of whomever was hosting whatever event they'd been dragged off to.

There were of course those he didn't like or really associate much with. Namely Abraxas. He couldn't stand the pompous jerk. Though to be fair he did have to thank the boy for having allowed him to become friends with Eileen. If not for Abraxas and his so called friends picking on the poor girl Henry never would have stepped in and, without a word, broken the bloody git's nose.

Fleamont was secretly proud of him after that encounter. He never did like the Malfoy family. But for his wife's sake and his own personal sanity, he did at least publicly chastise the boy and send him away from the festivities.

Since that Yule he and Eileen had become fast friends.

 

"Henry, come on! We're going to be late! The goblins hate it when we're late!"

They could hear his feet stomping through the hall towards the floo parlor before watching him skid past the door when he tried to stop.

Husband and wife chuckled when the boy had finally come in, green eyes bright and shining with excitement as he clutched the parchment listing supplies in his hand. "I can't believe it! I just can't believe it!" he exclaimed as he ran to his guardians. "I'm really going to Hogwarts!"

"Well you'd better believe it young man. Otherwise they'd have never sent that acceptance letter to you."

"I'm not a squib!" he exclaimed proudly. "I'm not a squib!" he repeated.

"Come on now, let's get going. Phemie you go first so Henry has a nice soft cushion to land on when he arrives."

 

Henry sat staring at the creature in front of him behind the desk. A clunky ring sat on the desk with a large black stone in it. The goblin had just finished explaining that the ring had to be 'forcibly repossessed' from a fallen bloodline or something. Henry really wasn't paying much attention, and wouldn't have really understood much of the conversation if he had been.

"I don't understand," he said, frowning and turning to his adoptive uncle. "What is that?"

"That, Henry, is your family ring. At the start of the summer, remember when your aunt and I sat you down to talk to you about your family and where you came from?"

The boy nodded, green eyes still uncertain.

"Well, even though your family were squibs, they were from a very old wizarding family here in England. You're the first wizard born in that part of the family in a very long time Henry and that ring is a symbol of where you come from."

"Like grandfather Henry's?"

"Just like grandfather Henry's. Only his is a big ugly ruby."

"I... I guess I'll take it then. I mean, that is, if that's alright sir?" he asked, turning his attention back to the goblin behind the desk.

"It's the only way you can get in your vault since back then we didn't use keys."

Henry sighed and, where appropriate, jabbed a bloody finger to a parchment. Or signed his name, with uncle Fleamont signing as well since he was his guardian after all.

The goblins had given him a chain to wear the ring on, with protections and charms on it so that only he could take it off. After getting some money from the Potter vault for his ward's supplies, Fleamont and Henry set out to meet with Euphemia for school robes.

They had saved the wand for last, as Euphemia noted Potters were notorious for taking a very long time to find one. After telling his adoptive aunt that he wasn't a Potter, she looked him right in the eye and said that with his wild hair he might as well be.

It was a good thing, too... since by the time Mr. Ollivander had finally narrowed it down to a handful of wands, having gone through nearly every single one in the shop, it was nearing closing time.

"We may just have to come back tomorrow. Or see about getting an international portkey to the continent. Maybe even America. He might need a rare core or an obscure wood."

Henry blocked them out as he picked up the final wand and... Nothing.

"I guess I just won't be getting one today after all..." Henry said, shrugging with a frown.

"Never have I had a more difficult customer..." Garrick Ollivander said, stroking his chin. "But perhaps... Ah. Just perhaps. I have one more trick up my sleeve. Just finished them last month. Works of art. Made them just to see if I could do it. Wait here," he said, dashing off to the back room.

The Potters and their charge heard a rather loud crash, followed by a bit of swearing and a few more thuds and another crash before the eccentric old wand-maker came back out of the back with two slender boxes under his arm. "These are perhaps the greatest wands I have ever crafted. It is not often I have the opportunity to work with phoenix feathers, let alone tail feathers!" he exclaimed excitedly. He hurried to the boy and opened the two boxes, laying them on the table in front of him. "Go on then," he encouraged.

Henry looked back at Fleamont and Euphemia, the later giving him an encouraging smile and nod. "Go on dear. If these don't work, I promise you we'll take you across the channel next weekend and try again."

He nodded, chewing his lip a moment before turning his attention back to the two wands in front of him. Both were very finely carved. One bone white and the other a rich darker wood. He reached out for the first one, but hesitated in concentration and moved his hand to the other, reaching down to grasp the wand in his hand and draw it from the box.

It felt like... like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It was like his magic suddenly flared to the surface. It was happy. It was warm and joyful and he gave it a swish. "Lumos," he said, using one of the simple spells he'd learned from his tutors.

The tip of the wand started to glow, bright and steady. He could swear that his magic was singing some strange, wonderful enchantment.

"Nox," he said, turning it off with a bright smile.

Ollivander sighed in relief and put the lid on the wand's brother. "Well, Mr. Peverell I'm quite pleased to say we found you a wand today after all."

Henry was beaming, green eyes alight with excitement as he held tightly to his new wand.

A bone china white length of yew, thirteen and a half inches with a phoenix feather core.

 

That night Henry slept peacefully, his new wand sitting in the box on his nightstand, and a black cloaked figure seated in the corner.

"Good choice, Master. But you do realize when you get your memories back you're not going to be very happy about it," Death said to the sleeping boy. "Especially when you realize who gets the other one."

 

The train ride to Scotland was long and boring, but at least he had a few familiar faces starting his same year. Algeron Longbottom sat across from him, with Evander Prewitt on his left. The three of them chatted excitedly about doing their school shopping, especially when it came to their wands.

"Father said he's never seen a wand pick a Longbottom so fast in his life," Algie said with a laugh, showing off his oak and unicorn hair wand. "Though, I'd give my left arm that when it's Augusta's turn, the first one with a dragon heartstring in it's going to stick with her right away."

Evander snickered. "I wouldn't be surprised. She bloody bellows like one."

Henry laughed and turned his head to look out the window at the rolling landscape. Nothing for miles, and though boring it was somewhat soothing. So much green and life and-

"What about you, Harry?"

He blinked, frowned, and turned back to his friends in confusion. His name wasn't... No. No he simply misheard, that was all. "What about me?"

"Your wand, Henry. What'd you get?"

He rolled his eyes and reached into the sleeve of his school robe, fetching it from the holster uncle Fleamont had given him a few days ago. "Yew," he said, holding it up for his friends to see. "Phoenix tail feather."

"No way!"

He nodded. "It took us hours to find it. Mr. Ollivander didn't even have it on sale yet. I went through all of the ones in the shop and when it looked like I'd have to wait another week he comes out with this one, and one other." He beamed proudly at his friends letting them look it over before he put it back in his holster.

The rest of the ride was spent talking about their families and what houses they usually ended up in. When it came back around to Henry, he smiled and shrugged. "I'm just happy I'm not a squib. The hat could put me anywhere and I'd be pretty happy with it."

 

Henry stood nervously with Evander and Algie, fidgeting with his robe sleeve before his friend's name was called. The had hadn't sat on Algie's head two seconds before it shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The boy was so relieved he didn't see where he was going and tripped over the front of his robes. He glared at Malfoy and McNair when it was their turn, and after Abraxas was sorted Slytherin Henry decided he'd much rather go anywhere but there.

"Peverell, Henry Antioch!"

"Good luck mate," Evander said quietly before Henry squared his shoulders, held his head high and made his way to the stool. The deputy headmaster looked on him in curiosity as the hat settled on the boy's head.

"Hrm... Quite a good mind you've got here young man."

"Not Slytherin," he whispered, eyes tightly shut.

"Not Slytherin you say? I suppose you'd want to be in Gryffindor-"

"What? No. Of course not. I know Uncle Fleamont and the rest of his family usually all go but I'm not-"

"Oh ho ho... Looking deeper it seems we've had this conversation once before, Harry. But you weren't a Peverell then."

"What does that- I mean you're just a- That's not even my name! I've never had you on my head before!"

"Well, I'm going to do what the other me didn't have the guts to," the hat said in his head before shouting for all to hear... "SLYTHERIN!"

Henry stared out at the Great Hall as the applause began. He looked up at the man holding the hat in one hand and the scroll in the other.

Blue eyes twinkled down at him, causing Henry to feel a little unsettled. "Go on then, Mr. Peverell. Your house is waiting for you."

Henry nodded as he stood, moving towards the table beneath the large green and silver banners.

"Look here boys," Abraxas sneered. "We've got the Potter squib."

"I'm not a squib, Malfoy," Henry snapped as he sat down a little distance away from the other first years.

"You're not even a real Potter either."

"Never said I was," he snapped back angrily. "Just stay out of my way and I won't break your nose again, alright?" he ground out as the feast began in earnest.

 

The first term was miserable. He didn't belong in the snake den. He knew that. The hat had to have made a mistake, Most of his year mates couldn't stand him because he refused to fall in line with Abraxas and his cronies. More often than not he wanted to hex the bastards, especially after returning to the dorm one day to find his trunk had been jinxed. Thankfully no one had gotten into it.

Most of the older students of his house ignored him unless he did something that would result in points being taken. Though more than once a Prefect had to step in to break up an argument that was about to get violent between Henry and one of Malfoy's lapdogs.

Winter break afforded him some relative peace, and he got to see some of his friends at the Ministry Ball. He'd enjoyed his gifts, mostly Quidditch themed since he was skilled on a broom. Eileen had even given him a cushioned compartment box for his potions class to help keep his ingredients from mixing together by mistake. Each compartment had a no-spill charm to keep things from falling out and jostling around.

Fleamont had teased him about the girl having a bit of a crush on him. Euphemia hid her smiles behind her teacup as Henry repeatedly denied it, strongly emphasizing that they were just good friends.

The peace and happiness of his winter break was, however, brought to an end once he returned to school and the reminder that his house was not one that welcomed him.

 

Three weeks into term and the two boys were sitting in the infirmary. One with rivulets of blood running down his face and the front of his school robes. The other had a black eye, a twisted ankle, and a vaguely nose shaped bruise on his forehead.

Grey-blue eyes glared at the green eyed boy as he held the rag up to his face, trying to staunch the blood from his broken nose as they waited their turn. Henry just smirked at him. His head hurt, he could barely see out of one eye, and his ankle throbbed from where he had wrenched himself out of McNair's leg-locker jinx by sheer force of will. But it was worth every second of it to make sure he gave as good as he got.

"Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Peverell. I am highly disappointed in the pair of you."

"Albus don't be so hard on the lads. Boys will be boys," their head of house said.

"Regardless Horace, fighting of any kind is against school policy and must be punished. Since this took place in my classroom, this is no longer a simple matter of inner house conflict."

Henry sighed, crossed his arms, and waited as the matron fixed Malfoy's nose and cleaned him up some. He was disappointed that there wouldn't be any real lasting damage done to his fellow Slytherin. Merlin knew the git deserved permanent disfigurement after what he'd tried to do to Evander.

Tripping jinx his right arse cheek. He was no expert being a first year and all, but that didn't feel like a tripping jinx to him. The twat.

"Sirs," Henry said as the matron worked on his injuries. "I will gladly accept any punishment you may wish to assign me, so long as McNair, Malfoy, and Rosier are also punished. I was defending my friend who was attacked when his back was turned."

Professor Dumbledore frowned in concern, the twinkle in his blue eyes lessened as he re-evaluated his initial assessment of the boy. Slytherins, by sheer virtue of solidarity, never offered names of their housemates in such a situation. Even if they did not get along. But then again, from what he had seen of the child so far since his sorting into the snake den flew in the face of convention. He was as eager to learn as a Ravenclaw. He was steadfast in his loyalty to his friends, much like one of the greatest virtues of the Hufflepuff house. And yet, outwardly where it could be observed, he seemed more a Gryffindor than a Slytherin.

Though that could have been attributed to being raised by a family so steadfast in their convictions as the Potters had always been.

"We will see, Mr. Peverell. First we must settle this situation with you and Mr. Malfoy before we can fully investigate exactly what took place in my classroom today."

Henry looked between the two professors to Malfoy, sitting on the opposite cot. The blond boy sneering at him, mouthing the word "Traitor" with hate in his eyes.

Henry sighed. It was going to be a long week.

 

The remainder of the year Henry spent much of his time learning as many privacy spells as he could and studying with the Ravenclaws at every opportunity. This was prompted by the fact that Malfoy and his cronies had finally managed to break into his trunk and shredded his clothes, jinxed his books, and snapped all of his quills in retaliation for the detentions with Dumbledore they had suffered through earlier in the year.

Henry had no doubt they'd gotten help from some of the older students of the house as well.

Despite this, he made nearly perfect marks in his classes and passed all of his tests. He put his full attention into every practical lesson, refusing to give up until he had mastered each and every spell.

He excelled in Defense and Transfiguration, with only a little difficulty in Charms. Potions were... well, he wasn't exactly the greatest. He managed to scrape by with an Acceptable. He'd ask Eileen's older brother to help tutor him but... he was among the older Slytherins that weren't exactly fond of him for one reason or another.

After having his clothing repaired or replaced, and with the help of some industrious Ravenclaws removing the hexes and jinxes from his school books, Henry was determined to learn more. Practice as much as he could. He remembered that Uncle Fleamont was a fairly good duelist, having had to learn how to defend himself due to being picked on so often for his name. He resolved to talk to him over the summer and perhaps start lessons with him.


	4. The Second Year

 

 

Henry's birthday was always a matter of special importance in the Potter household. At least, in Fleamont's little corner of it. Especially this year. They had planned to tell their adoptive nephew the great news that, finally, after nearly twelve years of trying, he and Euphemia were having a child.

Planned had been the operative word. She hadn't begun to show before she had lost the baby. Not even long enough to see whether it was a boy or a girl. So if Aunt Phemie was a little paler and a little quieter than usual as Fleamont and Henry welcomed the boy's friends and their parents for an outdoor celebration... well... she was just feeling a bit out of sorts and under the weather.

Henry had spent a few hours nearly every day with her, and took great satisfaction in being able to draw even the tiniest smiles from the woman who treated him as if he were her own. And if she wept just a little bit more on his birthday, watching him running through the gardens with his friends and laughing happily in his innocence of youth, well... as his surrogate mother she would just say how proud she was of him, and how fast time flies.

 

Despite the joys of the day, the night of Henry's birthday was plagued with nightmares. Large fat men who screamed and turned purple. A small, dusty and dark space with just enough room for a small cot. Legs flailed, kicking off his bedding as he dreamed of running through a darkened castle and three headed dogs. Tumbling to the ground at great speeds, nearly choking to death on a golden snitch.

He tossed and turned, sweating through his nightclothes and soaking the sheets beneath him as he whimpered. His voice catching in his throat, preventing him from crying out as he writhed in agony, clutching at his forehead in his sleep. He dreamed of flying keys and giant chess boards. Of a man who turned to ash at his touch and angry, horrifying eyes the color of blood.

Sitting in the corner where the shadows were thickest sat Death. Watching with mild interest as his Master regained some of his memories. Then, once the boy had settled down, the sweat cooling from his body and the creeping tendrils of dawn approaching, Death stood and crossed the bedchamber.

He stopped by his little Master's bed and reached a bony hand out not to offer comfort with a stroke of a cheek, but to caress the white wand that lay innocently on his bedside table. If he could smile, he would have then, proud that this time such a magnificent instrument of darkness and destruction chose the correct wizard to be it's master. It's allegiance would not be as fickle as it's Holly brother once his Master's true wand was returned to him.

"Happy birthday, Master," Death said as he turned away and faded into the remnants of the retreating night.

 

Henry was irritable more than usual the rest of summer. Plagued by strange dreams of strange people and impossible happenings in his school.

Despite his foul moods, he did enjoy spending time with Aunt Phemie in the garden when weather permitted. And his dueling lessons with Fleamont were always something he looked forward to every other day.

By the end of the summer, as dreams melded into nightmares, he found himself sleeping with his wand under his pillow and his hand wrapped around it. Though he had to admit, given what his year-mates in Slytherin were like it was a mighty useful habit to have.

 

They'd been late - and as usual it was Henry's fault. Sure they had plenty of Sleekeazies around the house (Fleamont had invented it after all) but even THAT couldn't completely tame his head of hair. And he didn't like the feeling it left on his scalp much, either. Always itching and...

But he hadn't wanted to give up at least trying to tame the wild back mane atop his head despite the utter failure it resulted in.

When they'd arrived at the platform Henry was practically running from the floo arrival point with his trunk and Fleamont trailing behind him so he wouldn't be late. Of course having taken so long to leave the house most of the compartments were already full when he'd managed to get on the train.

He'd sought out his few friends first, but found Algie sitting with his cousins and Evander trapped with two younger sisters - twins - and some bright fire haired kids from Gryffindor.

Henry had just about given up when he found a compartment that wasn't quite full, but it was filled with fellow Slytherins. Gathering up courage he didn't know he had in him, he gave a resolute nod and opened the door. "Excuse me, is there room for one more?"

"Move along, Squib."

Henry sighed, pressed his lips into a thin line and shut the door. Well, that was it then wasn't it? He decided to just find a spot out of the way and sit on his trunk. Maybe the treats trolley woman wouldn't mind too terribly much if he told her there wasn't anywhere left.

He'd been sitting on his trunk for ten minutes before he was approached by a third year Slytherin with pale skin, wild and black curly hair, and pale grey eyes. Before the boy could open his mouth, Henry growled at him. "Just leave me alone, Black. It's bad enough I have to share a house with you pricks most of the year," he spat.

"Whoa there, Peverell. Prefect Prince sent me to tell you to head back towards the Hufflepuffs. You can't be loitering out in the corridor."

"You want me to sit with the 'Puffs?"

"It's better than sitting in the hall like a dejected kitten, isn't it?"

"You're not having me on, are you?"

The boy seemed to bark as he laughed. Genuine amusement lighting him up and stripping the Slytherin mask away. "After what you did to that twat Malfoy last year? Sorry, Peverell, my face is my meal ticket. Last thing I need is you going around bashing that thick skull of yours into it." Earning a smile from the second year's lips, the other boy took this as a good sign and came closer. "Come on, I'll help you with the trunk."

Together they managed to maneuver his trunk back down the corridor towards the front of the old steam engine. Along the way Black had offered to tell him about certain charms to make moving his trunk around easier, emphasizing one of his personal favorites - the shrinking charm. Though he had warned him not to shrink something that had already been shrunk. Apparently the boy was still searching his family home for his mother's favorite goblet he had foolishly decided to experiment on.

"Here we are. I'm going to head back before my mates start making up lies about me or whatever it is the rest of our house does when we're not looking."

"Thanks," Henry said, offering his hand to the other boy. "When we're alone, you can call me Harry." He hadn't meant to say it. It just kind of... slipped out. He didn't have time to frown as the other boy took his hand to reciprocate.

"Alphard," he said. "But my friends call me Al. There, now you've got a friend in nearly every house."

"I wouldn't go that far."

He grinned, and it was almost wolfish in nature. "I like you, Harry. You ever need help with homework or something, you come find me."

The boy scoffed. "Yeah, sure. And what's in it for you?"

Alphard shrugged. "I haven't decided yet," he said. "But when I do, you'll know it. Now go on. Can't spend the whole ride out here," he said as he turned to head back towards the other end of the train. Henry turned away to investigate some of the nearby compartments.

Most were full, except one. He peered in through the little window of the door. A single child sat staring out the window. A new trunk was tucked up on the overhead storage rack. He frowned, a fleeting thought that when all other compartments were filled why should this one be so... empty. Henry gave a small knock to the compartment door, since it was only polite. After all, the boy clearly didn't have any house affiliation as of yet. Only the plain black of his first year robes. Not like Henry's and the other students. He wanted to make a good impression should this boy be sorted into Slytherin. Especially if he was sorted Slytherin. It wouldn't do to have the poor boy bullied into hanging off every word from Malfoy of all people.

The boy didn't even turn his head to look at him, but he had tilted his head some as if listening. Clearly Henry had gotten his attention. With a half-forced smile on his face, he opened the compartment door. "Hello. May I join you? I've had a terrible time trying to find a seat in the rest of the train."

The boy sat there. Listening. His hands resting peacefully in his lap before one of them tightened ever so subtly in the black fabric of his robes. The very air in the compartment felt heavy, almost oppressive and for a moment Henry realized that this must have been why no one dared to sit here with the child. If he'd believed in divination he'd have thought the strange clench in his gut and the faint tingling above his right eye might have been a symptom of de-ja-vu.

Regardless, he couldn't be caught sitting out in the corridor when the trolley came along. Nor when the Prefects started to do their rounds. Especially when the Prefects started rounds. He'd get an ear full from Prince about it - mainly because the boy had sent Alphard Black out to make sure he found somewhere to sit.

No little first year was going to chase him off, he decided, and let his forced smile fall. Pulling his trunk in behind him, he made quick work of stowing it away next to the new one on the rack before seating himself opposite the boy.

Only when he felt the oppressive aura again did Henry say another word, ignoring the stinging that the tingling of the skin on his head had become. "You might want to reign that in a bit before we reach the school," he said. "You'll have the teachers looking at you funny."

Halfway through what he'd said, the boy had finally deigned to look towards him. Hard, cold blue eyes glaring at him silently as Henry just shrugged and settled in for the ride. He gave the boy one last, scrutinizing look before turning his green eyes to the scenic beauty rolling by outside.

Eventually he felt the hard gaze leave him, but the heavy presence the other boy exuded remained, almost as if irritated that Henry dared stay put rather than move along like all the others. Irritated that this other boy with his green and silver striped tie seemed absolutely unaffected by the same fear and caution he had begun to instill in all the others from the place he, until now, had been the only 'home' he had ever known.

 

Another year, another round of ridicule.

Henry didn't even bother trying to find a seat amongst his house. Instead opting to sit slightly apart and encroaching on the seats reserved for the incoming first years.

He didn't mind it really. His own year mates, at least in Slytherin, hated him and he hated them. So long as they left him alone, he would have no need to show them how difficult it is to block a headbutt with a simple shield charm.

Instead, he simply sat at the table, ignoring everyone and reading from his Defense book. He knew the basics, having gone over them with his guardian over the summer in his dueling lessons. But it never hurt to brush up before classes started so it was fresh in mind.

He barely glanced up when the seats on his other side began to fill. He hadn't been the least bit surprised by the newest additions to Slytherin House. It was a fact that the Lestrange family all went there. Along with the Notts and the Mulcibers. A few other faces he didn't recognize, so he assumed they must have been half-bloods. It wasn't uncommon enough to be unusual, certainly. Only in rare cases - like his own for example - where the students sorted weren't so-called 'pure blood'.

Henry didn't miss the fact that there was an empty seat on either side of himself, and the three across from him were equally vacant. As if he had some sort of disease that the others were afraid to catch if they got too close to him.

He sighed and turned the page, hardly noticing when he felt the cold, slightly hostile oppressive presence again before the seat across from him was filled. Henry gave only a slight hum in acknowledgment, keeping his head down and ignoring everyone until the food arrived.

The remainder of the welcoming feast went by without incident, even as he heard the whispers around him. Once he had eaten his fill, he closed his book and waited quietly, staring boredly at a spot on the wall past the boy in front of him.

Henry would not hear him speak for quite some time yet.

 

"What is a squib?" the boy asked, blue eyes boring into him only moments after Henry's forehead began to tingle. It was odd, that. Whenever this odd little muggleborn boy approached him, or directed his rather overbearing aura towards him, he would have a sort of... warning of his presence. He'd written home to ask his guardians about such an occurrence, and had yet to hear back from them.

Presumably, if they had the time, they were looking into it for him.

"Where did you hear a term like that?"

"It's what the others call you. What is it?"

"A squib is like a muggle," he said simply without looking up from his homework.

The boy frowned at him. It was clearly not the answer he had been expecting. "So it is another term for muggle. A synonym."

"No. Muggles come from other muggles. Squibs are children born without magic to a magical family."

"You have magic. I have watched you practice. You own a wand."

Henry rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "My parents were both squibs," he said plainly. "Because of this many of the other children do not look kindly on me."

The boy was quiet for a moment. "That is why you have friends in the other houses. They do not care that your parents were not like us."

Henry hummed as he heard the common room door grind open and a loud group of his fellow second years came in. "There are other reasons, but that is one of them," he said, setting down his quill and putting the cork in his ink bottle. Quickly he rolled up his parchment and tucked his belongings into his bag. "Excuse me. I just remembered I needed something from the library before curfew."

"I will come with you."

"It's best if you don't."

"I'm not afraid of them."

Henry smirked, watching the boy from the corner of his eye. "Despite appearances, neither am I. I just don't fancy spending a night in the hospital wing or detention."

"Does that happen frequently?"

"Last year the matron threatened to have a plaque engraved with my name on it to place above one of the beds as a permanent fixture."

The boy narrowed his blue eyes as if scrutinizing him before giving an imperious nod and leaving him to his own devices. Henry could still feel him watching, however, as he made his way to the exit. He stopped long enough to respond to a jeering Abraxas with a simple "Piss off Malfoy before I break your pretty face again," before moving on.

 

Henry missed the Halloween feast by hiding in the library. He'd never much liked Halloween. Even as a small child. Often he would tend to have terrible luck on the day. Everything from potions accidents to broom crashes. The year before he'd gotten lost and stumbled upon the death day party for Sir Nicholas, the nearly headless ghost of Gryffindor House. A house elf had found him and taken pity, bringing him to the kitchens so he could get a bite to eat.

Apparently there was at least one student every year that either got dragged to it or wandered in by mistake.

This year he'd had an argument with Rosier that nearly led to blows before Professor Merrythought could step in and encase both boys in cushioned bubble charms to prevent them from fighting. Rosier was serving detention tonight because he had started it. Thankfully Henry's wasn't until tomorrow, which afforded him time to complete his essay for Professor Dumbledore.

He'd been so engrossed in his homework that he hadn't noticed the tell-tale tingle before the other boy's aura made him known.

A single treacle tart was placed on the table next to his ink bottle. "You were not at dinner."

"I know how to get to the kitchens now," he said, checking the book he'd found for his research before adding a few more facts to his work.

"Stop skipping meals, Peverell."

Henry rolled his eyes and gave a soft chuckle. "For a firstie you're pretty pushy," he said. "I didn't know you cared."

The boy glared at him. "I don't."

"Funny way of showing it."

"Next time, I'll just let you starve the," the boy said flatly, turning on his heel and leaving him there. Though when he reached the end of the next table, he paused very subtly upon hearing a quiet "Thank you, Riddle."

 

The first time Henry heard one of the upper year students call first year Tom Riddle a mudblood, both he and Miss Black ended up in the infirmary. He with boils and she with a rather nasty snakebite.

It was also the first time anyone outside of Fleamont and Euphemia heard Henry speak parseltongue.

When Henry returned to the dorm that evening, free of blemishes and boils, Alphard was waiting for him. "You could have killed my sister."

"She was the one who summoned the snake, not me. I merely defended myself."

Alphard scoffed. "Yeah, if that's what you want to call it... Look, watch your back, Harry. That kind of skill... they'll all get the wrong idea about you. If word gets back to the headmaster, or Merlin forbid Professor Dumbledore-"

"My guardians are aware of my particular... talent."

"The Potters know? And they haven't had you shipped off to Azkaban yet?"

Henry shrugged. "You'd be surprised by some of the books we have in our library at home. Grandfather Henry's private collection would put even your family's to shame I'd wager."

"Yeah right. A Potter owning dark books? Illegal books. Please. With how many Aurors that family produces-"

"Know thy enemy," Henry said. "You cannot defend against dark magic if you do not know what it is capable of. Euphemia's a blood ward specialist, did you know? Charlus may be an Auror but he's the only one on the force who can successfully counter the majority of the dark curses they are faced with every day. Don't even get me started on Fleamont's potion experiments."

Alphard held up his hands in defeat. "Alright alright. You've proven your point." Henry graced him with a smug grin. "Still, you could have killed my sister. I might hate Walburga with a passion but I can't let that slide. My family honor is at stake."

Henry nodded. "And how will we settle this then? A friendly duel? Fisticuffs?"

Alphard's barking laughter couldn't be held back. "Merlin no. What do I look like? A Malfoy? I've got more sense of self-preservation than that. I've seen you duel and I've seen what happens when people fight you. A broom race, I should think. It also won't land us both in detention and lose us house points."

"On school brooms," Henry said. "Inspected by an unbiased third party. Say... Professor Gilliam? We will need to see him about the brooms after all."

"If that's the case, then perhaps a seeker's game? That is, if you don't feel threatened by my place on the Quidditch team."

Henry gave a small nod. "Tomorrow then. We will go together during lunch to speak to Professor Gilliam. Once it is cleared, we announce to the House our Honor Duel and the terms we've agreed to."

Alphard nodded in return. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Henry waited until the third year had slunk off back to his room before slumping into one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. "You can come out now, Riddle," he said with a sigh.

The chair opposite him was suddenly filled, the odd first year staring at him just as intently as usual. "You can speak to snakes."

"Yes. I've always been able to. My first words, according to Aunt Phemie, were in Parseltongue to a snake that had wandered in from the garden."

"I thought I was the only one. Professor Dumbledore says it's not... normal."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Ah. Him," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Parseltongue is actually quite common in the Orient and India where snake charming has been a common form of entertainment for centuries. It's not very common here, of course."

"Of course."

Henry stood and raked a hand through his hair. "I'd better be off to bed. Early start tomorrow and all that." Once he'd turned away, he could hear Riddle moving about the room behind him.

"Why did you stand up for me? No one ever has before."

He didn't answer.

In all honesty he had no idea why the word set him off into a foul enough rage that he raised his wand against a girl, an older girl, but still a girl. Fleamont had taught him better manners than that. He loathed many of the pureblood ideals of blood purity. It led to some of the most disgusting of blood ties. Brothers forced to marry their own sisters. In the case of the Goyle family there were at least two generations, if it could be called thus, where when a father died the eldest son married the mother. It was foul and disgusting the lengths some of the older families would go to in order to keep their blood so-called 'pure'.

Not for the first time he was grateful he'd been born to squibs and raised by the Potters. If he'd been stuck with the Blacks, who were well known for marrying their own first cousins, or even the horrid and disgusting Gaunts... he really didn't know what he'd have done.

Run away screaming probably. No, definitely being placed with the Potter side of the Peverell lineage was a far better option than any other.

Before long he found himself standing outside his dorm room, Riddle not far behind him at the door preceding his. "Goodnight, Riddle."

"Peverell," the boy said in return before slipping into the first year dormitory.

 

"Mr. Peverell, do you understand why you are in my office today?"

He wouldn't meet Headmaster Dippet's eyes, instead he chose to look around at the portraits of the former headmasters of the school.

"Your stunt on the pitch yesterday was reckless and quite frankly life threatening."

"Sir, it's not my fault the school brooms are inadequate and that the snitch was bewitched." Henry finally glanced at the headmaster and folded his hands in his lap.

"Do you own a broom, Mr. Peverell?"

That was not the question he had expected. In fact, Henry had expected to be reprimanded, given detention or possibly a temporary suspension, and sent on his way. "Sir?"

"Allow me to repeat myself Mr. Peverell. Do you own a broom?"

"Y...yes sir. I fail to see-"

"Is it here at the school?"

"No sir. I keep it at home while I attend school."

"You are the Potter ward, correct?"

"Yes sir, Headmaster."

Headmaster Dippet seemed quite pleased as he sat back in his seat. "For the destruction of school property, you will serve detention with Professor Gilliam, helping to clean all of the Quidditch gear every Saturday for the next month. You will help Groundskeeper Paddock in repairing the damage you did to the pitch on Sundays."

Henry sighed, but straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Yes sir."

"I would also like you to write home and ask your broom be sent to the school. Professor Slughorn saw the display and has asked that, though it is late in the year, you be allowed to try out for the Slytherin team."

Henry stared at him in shock and disbelief as Headmaster Dippet dismissed him. Once he regained his bearings, unable to mask his expression like a good Slytherin, he got up and quietly left.

At the bottom of the spiral staircase, outside the gargoyle guard, his friends were waiting for him with a few of his housemates.

"Well? How bad is it? Are you expelled?" Evander asked.

"Weekend detention for a month," he replied, his voice and face still expressing his disbelief with the way the conversation took. "I..."

"You're lucky you didn't choke on the bloody thing," Algie said, slapping his friend on the back. "What's he got you doing then? Scrubbing cauldrons? Mucking the owlry?"

"Cleaning Quidditch gear," he said, frowning in concentration. "He wants me to try out of the team."

"What?!"

"I don't quite know how I feel about that..." he said, still frowning and deciding to push through the throng. "Excuse me I need to get some air."

 

It was Riddle that found him sitting outside in the cold by the Black Lake. Henry didn't even look up. He didn't need to in order to know who it was.

"Your friends have been looking for you."

"I know."

"You skipped the rest of your classes."

"What are you now, my minder?" Henry shot back bitterly. He felt a heavy weight settle upon him as if to compel him to turn and face the other boy. Henry did turn, and glared angrily at him. "Don't you bloody dare try that on me, Riddle," he snapped viciously.

It was enough to cause the younger boy to take a step back and glare hatefully at him. "I don't enjoy feeling indebted to you, Peverell."

"You don't have a debt to me."

"You defended me against Walburga Black even though you did not have to nor did I ask you to."

"Then leave me alone and I'll consider us even."

"Not until you come inside and attend dinner. I won't sneak food out for you again."

The two glared at one another before finally, Henry was the one to turn away. "Fine," he muttered, gathering his things and getting to his feet and muttering in parseltongue.

"I heard that," Riddle said as he turned to walk beside the other boy back towards the castle.

 

Riddle didn't have friends. So over the winter break, when the castle was quiet and nearly all of the students gone back to their families, he did not expect a present waiting for him at the end of his bed for Christmas.

It had no card other than to indicate the recipient of the gift. It was wrapped in green paper with silver ribbon - the colors of Slytherin House. He was untrusting, but regardless he had never received a gift before. Not for Christmas and not for his birthday. Though when he opened the gift before breakfast that morning he did not need a card to know who it had been sent by.

The book was a wizarding book about both muggle and wizard snake charmers in the far east. It wasn't brand new as evidenced from the worn spine and some of the pages had creases in the corners where they had been bent to mark the page.

Tom Riddle kept to himself for the remainder of the holiday, leaving the Slytherin dorm only when necessary. The remainder of the time he spent sitting in the common room or on his bed, his new-ish book open in his lap.

 

After returning from the Winter holidays, Henry was surprised to find a card sitting on his bed with neat, nearly perfect handwriting. There were no thanks, no acknowledgment of a gift received other than a gift given in return. Inside the card was a quill made from a feather of unidentifiable nature. It was black, with a green sheen that appeared when the light hit it just right.

Henry had asked his care of magical creatures professor if he could identify it for him, and the man said it came from one of the nesting hippogriffs in the forest. Needless to say the second year was quite impressed.

It quickly became his favorite quill, and if he occasionally spied the creepy first year watching him as he did his homework with it, he gave no outward indication other than a subtle nod.

 

The remainder of the term was spent with petty squabbles between Henry and most of his year mates. Some of Tom's as well. And plenty of detention for resorting to muggle means of retaliation when someone insulted any of Henry's friends.

Once in a while Alphard would help by slipping prank potions into their food or drinks on his behalf. And Tom would exert whatever his... oddness was to at least get people to second guess whether or not going after Henry was really worth it. Though he only did this when he himself was caught up in the conflict for some reason or another.

The year came to an end and all was well. Mostly.

The train back to London was once again quiet, this time the two boys claiming a compartment on their own rather than being stuck together like at the start of the year.

"I know that you live with muggles, so an owl post won't be well received," Henry had said about half-way through the trip. "But if I could sort out a way to use muggle post, would it be alright if I wrote to you this summer?"

Tom frowned at him. "You want to write to me?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

Green eyes blinked at him as if the boy had sprouted a third arm. "Because you are my friend, Riddle."

"I don't have friends, Peverell."

Henry sighed and picked at a loose thread of his robe. "Alright then," he said finally before turning his attention to the window. Despite his words, it was certainly not alright. But there was very little Henry could do about the matter.

For now.


End file.
